


one step heavy (two steps high)

by sahwen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Peter Parker Friendship, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Endgame, Pre-Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 08:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahwen/pseuds/sahwen
Summary: “Sometimes I’m alright, you know? And then sometimes it’s like I’m being eaten alive.”“I know the feeling.”Alternate title: trauma boys get coffee.





	one step heavy (two steps high)

**Author's Note:**

> hi. it's been like ten months. i'm so sorry  
> so i saw endgame. and then far from home. and boy [slaps peter parker on the back] this bad boy can fit so much trauma in him  
> two of my faves have barely interacted, and i think they have a lot of similarities (read: emotional turmoil) that would make their dynamic really wonderful. so i wrote it  
> title is from "without you" by oh wonder

Bucky was waiting for Peter outside his Aunt May’s apartment, in black jeans and a bomber jacket, hair pulled back in a bun. Peter didn't recognize him until he saw the familiar glint of Bucky’s metal arm in the sunlight. 

When Peter was close enough, Bucky motioned to him and said, “Walk with me.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Uh, okay,” Peter said, picking up pace slightly to reach him sooner. His backpack clunked audibly against his back with each step . “Am I in trouble?”

“No.”

“Is something happening?”

“No.” 

Peter was a little intimidated by Bucky. Bucky knew that. Bucky was used to people being intimidated by him. Weaponized metal limb aside, he was still a big dude with half a century’s worth of assassinations under his belt. He wasn’t warm and pleasant like Captain America-- Steve _or_ Sam. 

They found a coffeehouse on 30th. Bucky didn’t bother hiding his metal hand as he pulled some bills from his wallet and handed them to the barista. Peter tried not to stare at it and failed. 

“You’re allowed to ask me about it, you know,” Bucky said as they sat down. He had ordered a black coffee, and Peter had gotten a cappuccino with a funny cartoon character drawn in the foam. Part of Bucky had always wanted to try something new like that, but he inevitably became too nervous when it was his turn at the register. “You’re not gonna hurt my feelings. But I can’t promise I’ll have answers. Wakandan tech is a bit too advanced for an old man like me to fully understand.” 

Peter went a light shade of pink. “Mr. Barnes, I--” 

Bucky snorted a little. “You don’t have to call me that. ‘Bucky’ is fine.” 

“Oh. I just-- I thought…” Peter fidgeted in his seat. “I thought maybe it was special, like a name only he called you, or something.”

Bucky's expression fell. “It wasn’t just him. But it was considerate of you to worry.” 

Peter tapped his fingers against the side of his mug. He hadn’t drank any of it yet. “Why'd you come find me?”

Bucky shrugged. “I missed New York. I used to--” he faltered, seeming to doubt if he should share what he was about to-- “When Steve and I were younger, we lived together in Brooklyn. We were both pretty poor, and he was in art school, so money was tight.”

“Cap went to _art school?_ ”

“Yeah. Auburndale.” The corners of Bucky’s mouth turned up. “He was pretty good.” 

Peter was starstruck. It was honestly kind of endearing. He reminded Bucky of Steve when they were kids-- maybe a bit healthier. 

“Okay, okay--” Peter shook his head, trying to clear it-- “but why make a stop in Queens? You didn’t have to come see me.” 

Bucky feigned offense. “I’m hurt, Peter.” 

Peter panicked. “That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry--!”

“Calm down, I was just messing with you.” Bucky leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Then he thought better of it and dropped his hands to his thighs, keeping himself open. It wasn't something he liked doing and it didn’t come naturally, but it was important. Especially now. 

“I wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing,” Bucky said. 

Peter’s brows knit. “What?”

“I’m kind of used to losing chunks of time to total oblivion,” Bucky explained. “So when we came back and five years had gone by, I didn’t think much about it. But I know it can be… difficult to adjust.” 

“... Oh.” Peter looked sheepish. “Well I’m, um. I’m doing okay, I guess.”

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

Peter didn’t respond.

“I wasn’t, uh, exactly on _good terms_ with Stark when he died,” Bucky filled the silence. “So if speaking with me isn’t something you want, I would understand.” 

Peter looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

Bucky returned Peter’s expression. “He hated me, Peter.” 

“He didn’t hate you,” Peter protested. 

“He _definitely_ did,” Bucky said. “And he was allowed to. You don’t have to defend him for something that wasn’t wrong.” He paused. “Did he… not tell you what happened?” When Peter shook his head, Bucky took a moment to prepare himself for the conversation he was about to have, and took a sip of his coffee as a means of stalling. “You know Stark lost his parents when he was very young.” 

“Yeah, it was a car accident,” Peter replied. 

Bucky’s metal fingers dug into his thigh. This wasn’t even the same arm that had done it-- Stark, ironically, had freed him of that burden-- but he could still remember Stark’s father under his hand, the life in him going out. He could still hear Maria in the passenger seat, bleeding and crying and pleading with him. 

Eventually, Bucky said, “it wasn’t an accident.” 

Peter went white, then a nauseating shade of green. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Bucky loosened his grip on his leg. Strands of denim caught on the grooves in his hand, and he busied himself with tugging them free. 

“It was you?” Peter sounded incredulous, like he didn’t _want_ to believe it. 

“A lot of things were me,” Bucky said. 

Without missing a beat, Peter blurted, “JFK?” 

“Can’t take credit for that one, actually,” Bucky answered. 

Peter might as well have been trying to burn holes into Bucky’s skull with how strong his stare was. Bucky could practically hear the gears churning in the kid’s head. He feigned nonchalance, continuing to drink his coffee and watching the passersby outside while Peter had a slight internal crisis across the table. 

“Do you remember them?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Peter backpedaled and covered his mouth. “Crap, I’m sorry,” he said through his fingers, “that was so rude. You don’t have to answer that.” 

“It’s okay.” Bucky offered him a small but reassuring smile. “It’s normal to be curious. And yeah. I remember all of them.” He struggled to distinguish the emotion passing over Peter's face. It wasn’t fear. Was it concern? Did Peter feel _bad_ for him? 

“I just thought you should know,” Bucky went on. “What I did, and why Stark had it out for me-- which I don’t blame him for.”

Peter continued to study Bucky with a borderline uncomfortable intensity. At least he’d gone back to a normal color. “But you were a victim, too,” Peter said. “It’s not like you _wanted_ to do those things.” 

“I still did them.” 

“But--” 

Bucky waved his hand, dismissing the subject. “I didn’t come here to argue about whether I deserve sympathy.” He finally looked at Peter head-on. He knew his eyes were dark, but he hoped they didn't come off cold. “I came here to drop a line.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“If you need to talk to someone who’s had his fair share of time-loss, I’d be happy to be that person for you. If you want.” Bucky took a deep breath. He didn't want to do this part. “And I lost someone too, and I… I dunno, I didn’t want you to be alone in your grief. If Steve were here, I feel like this is what he’d do.” He gave Peter a quick up and down. A little scrawny, but so much enthusiasm. It tugged on Bucky's heart, almost too hard. “He liked your spirit.” 

Peter’s eyes welled. “He did?” 

“Yeah.”

Peter dropped his gaze to his drink and stirred it with his spoon, cutting lines through the cartoon in the foam. “Sometimes I’m alright, you know? And then sometimes it’s like I’m being eaten alive.”

“I know the feeling.” 

Peter hurriedly wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry you and Tony couldn’t--” 

“It’s okay,” Bucky reassured him. “Having a past like mine means you have enemies. I don’t expect to make amends with everyone. Or _any_ one.” 

Peter didn’t seem to accept that idea. Bucky didn’t expect much different. He was just a kid. Part of Bucky questioned Stark’s reasoning for looping a 16-year-old into this whole mess, but Peter had held his own plenty of times. Bucky had seen it. Peter had, after all, caught his punch back in Berlin. It wasn’t like the kid was weak. He just reminded Bucky _way_ too much of Steve.

“I’m also…” Peter’s lower lip wobbled and Bucky tensed. He knew the location of every major artery in the human body but had no clue on how to comfort a weepy teenager. “I’m sorry about Cap.” 

“... Thank you,” Bucky said. He appreciated it, even if he was essentially numb to condolences at this point, he’d received so many. “I’m sorry about Stark. Tony, I mean.” 

“I wish I could bring him back,” Peter whispered, like he was sharing a secret. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery. “Like he did for me. For all of us.” 

Bucky’s forehead wrinkled with worry as Peter continued to do very badly at covering up the fact he was crying. He did a quick 360 around the coffeehouse; it wasn’t packed, but there were people present, and they would certainly notice if Peter burst into tears. He leaned across the table and quietly asked, “Do you want to go somewhere more private?” 

Peter sniffled and nodded, and Bucky was immediately on his feet and ushering Peter out the door. One advantage to all his training was that, when it was necessary, Bucky could act quickly. 

There was no such thing as privacy in New York, but Bucky kept Peter close and led him down a residential street, away from the main avenue and the crowded sidewalks. Peter shook under his arm-- the flesh one. 

“Let’s sit down,” Bucky suggested. 

He and Peter commandeered someone’s front steps, Peter plunking down on the second stair and Bucky taking the third. 

“I’m sorry I upset you,” Bucky said. 

Peter covered his face with his hands. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” 

Bucky let Peter take a minute to pull himself together in silence, watching a breeze rustle the tops of the trees lining the sidewalk. It had just become autumn, and the edges of the leaves had begun to turn yellow.

Living in Wakanda had been different because he’d never been there-- same as Romania-- but being in New York was like looking at a double-exposure photograph. He knew this place so well, and at the same time it was a stranger to him. His old life lingered in shades of grey and sepia, overlapping, blurring the present with what used to be. He’d seen an advertisement for Coney Island on the train and couldn’t help but think of Steve, small and nauseated and furious at Bucky for making him ride the Cyclone with him. They’d thought life back then was hard. Bucky wanted to take that version of himself by the shoulders and shake him, tell him he didn’t know what he had and how much he was going to lose. 

What it all boiled down to was this: Bucky was old. A century of suffering made a man tired. In comparison, Peter was brand new. He was experiencing all this pain for the first time and Bucky, in spite of all his experience, didn’t know how to make it better. Steve would have known-- Steve, who would have been there if not for the choice he’d made. A stupid, _stupid_ choice, in Bucky's opinion. 

“I know you’re sad.” Bucky eased down a step to sit beside Peter. “And probably angry. I am, too.” 

Peter nodded, but didn’t say anything. 

“I wish I could give you answers,” Bucky said. “Or tell you when it stops hurting. I’m afraid all I can do is listen.” 

Peter glanced at him. He wasn’t crying anymore, but it was obvious that he had been. “Thank you. You’re really nice.” 

Bucky scoffed a little. “I wouldn’t go that far.” 

“I mean it.” Peter wiped his cheeks on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and Bucky felt a pang of… something, in his chest. The instinct to protect, maybe. “I like talking to you.” 

Relief washed over him. He'd done something right. "I'm glad," Bucky said, and it was true.

Peter checked his watch. "My aunt, she's gonna wonder where I am."

"Oh, yeah." Bucky stood up and offered his hand to Peter. “I can walk you home.” 

"Thanks." Peter accepted Bucky’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Do you wanna, like... exchange numbers? It'd probably be easier than waiting for me outside my house."

Bucky hadn't even considered that. "You're probably right." Now he'd actually have to look at his phone. Sam had forced him to add everyone’s number since he was part of a team now, or something, but he rarely used it. He read off his number to Peter, then immediately got a text from a new number saying _it’s me!_ accompanied by a spider-web emoji, which Bucky hadn’t even known existed. He tacked it onto the end of Peter’s contact name. 

“Feel free to reach out anytime, okay?” Bucky said.

“Even if you’re busy?” 

“Even if I’m busy.”

Peter scrubbed his face with his sleeve one last time. “Sorry you had to see all that.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” Bucky replied. “I tried to punch you in Berlin, remember? You’re totally fine.” 

Peter grinned a little and Bucky gave him a firm clap on the shoulder. 

“Do you wanna swing?” Peter asked, already rolling up his sweatshirt sleeve to prepare for subsequent web-shooting. 

_“No.”_

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @itsaboutsam!


End file.
